The Jimmyjohn Boss
I
One day at Nampa, which is in Idaho, a ruddy old massive jovial man
stood by the Silver City stage, patting his beard with his left hand, and
with his right the shoulder of a boy who stood beside him. He had come
with the boy on the branch train from Boise, because he was a careful
German and liked to say everything twice--twice at least when it was a
matter of business. This was a matter of very particular business, and the
German had repeated himself for nineteen miles. Presently the east-bound
on the main line would arrive from Portland; then the Silver City stage
would take the boy south on his new mission, and the man would journey
by the branch train back to Boise. From Boise no one could say where he
might not go, west or east. He was a great and pervasive cattle man in
Oregon, California, and other places. Vogel and Lex--even to-day you may
hear the two ranch partners spoken of. So the veteran Vogel was now once
more going over his notions and commands to his youthful deputy during
the last precious minutes until the east-bound should arrive.
"Und if only you haf someding like dis," said the old man, as he
tapped his beard and patted the boy, "it would be five hoondert more
dollars salary in your liddle pants."
The boy winked up at his employer. He had a gray, humorous eye; he
was slim and alert, like a sparrow-hawk--the sort of boy his father openly
rejoices in and his mother is secretly in prayer over. Only, this boy had
neither father nor mother. Since the age of twelve he had looked out for
himself, never quite without bread, sometimes attaining champagne,